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[ditchwitchbitch.livejournal.com]

Title: Lullaby Town, Part 1/?
Author: Kerry
Pairing: Monaboyd and Billy/Ali (but mostly Monaboyd)
Rating: This part is PG
Warnings: AU
Summary: If Billy had been an acting instructor and Dominic had been a young, eager kid, where would they have ended up?
Disclaimer: Not mine, and not true. Not a word of it.
Feedback: Please?
Author's Notes: This is the first Monaboyd piece that I've ever posted, even if it's just to my own journal right now. I used to be heavy in some other pairings, but over the past few years, I've been pulled over to the dark side. Also, I have no beta so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Shortcomings

It's been a long week.

It's been a long week. Ages have passed since the last time Billy managed to sleep through an entire night without waking up at least half a dozen times only to stare blankly at his cream-colored walls. Not tonight, though.

He is tired for once, which is a good start. This is due to the twenty hours spent at the theater, closed off in the back room where he has conducted two workshops back-to-back.

But he assures himself tonight he will sleep soundly, which is precisely why he's irritated when he hears the knock on the door. There is a brief moment of hesitation in which he considers simply letting whoever it might be believe that he isn't in.

"Billy? C'mon, I saw your car outside. And the lights are on in there."

He gives up on that plan and opens the door.

It's a boy. There's really no other way to describe him, even if Billy knows he can't be that young.

The non-boy gives him a cheeky smile, but his eyes reveal something else, something more. If Billy had to put a name to it, he might call it desperation. It is a look he knows well.

"Are you busy?"

Billy nods.

"Doing what? Maybe I can help."

Billy shakes his head. The boy looks vaguely familiar, and he did know Billy's name. A lot of people pass through the theater, though, and while Billy's personality is usually bubbling over with laughter and charm, tonight he is not in the mood for anything more than a glass of scotch and a warm bed.

Whoever he is, he seems to notice that Billy doesn't recognize him so he holds out his hand. "I'm Dominic, but no one really calls me that. My mates call me Dom, and my mum calls me Dommie. Not that I want you to call me Dommie. Fuck. Forget I said that." His speech is fast, hurried, slurred. It makes Billy's head hurt as he feels even more confused than before.

"Ah'm sorry, Dom, but Ah don't think Ah know-"

But he's cut off and Dom is talking again. "I was in your actor's workshop last fall. I just got a part at the theater, in Mark Gueblin's play, the Modern Baby."

Billy looks him over for the first time. Sandy brown hair cut at all sorts of angles pokes up between Dom's purple-polished fingernails as he ran them through the hair. He does remember him, but as the young boy who always sat alone during the breaks of the workshops and painted his nails.

"What are ye here for, Dom?"

Dom shifts. "I was hoping that you could help me out on some of it, with some of the lines. They suggested you, said that you're free at all hours and I don't have much time. I've got a day job, and when I'm not there I'm rehearsing for the play. I really don't have time except this late and..." He trails off, chewing on his lower lip.

"Ye've already got the part, though, have ye nae? Ye have a director that can help ye it with yer lines an' things." He feels less and less tired as the minutes wear on and for that, Billy curses the younger man. Tonight he was supposed to sleep.

"This is my big chance. I want to be the best that I can be, get some really good reviews... try to make something of my career. I don't think the director can help me that much, but I think you can," Dom explains.

He doesn't like turning anyone away and never has. He tells Dom this, but then goes on to clarify that he has a full plate right now and hasn't the time to teach anymore outside of his workshops. Dom won't have it.

"But please, you've got to..."

Silence fills the room for a moment and Billy runs a hand through his hair, weighing his options. It would be easy to send Dominic away without guilt, because he doesn't know this boy with the needy eyes and the hasty speech. But he can't do it. He yawns, rubbing at his eyes.

"Come back tha'moorns." Dom stares at him, blankly, and he lets out a sigh.

Dom shifts again. "I'm sorry. I don't remember your accent being so thick before... What'd you say?"

Billy makes a concentrated effort to pronounce the words as clearly as he can. When he's exhausted, he often slips back into his Scottish accent. "Come back. T'morrow. Earlier 'n tonight, though."

And with that, the boy is gone. Unfortunately for Billy, so is the desire to sleep.

He closes the door and pads quietly into his kitchen, removing a half-empty bottle of scotch from the cabinet. There have been too many nights like this lately, spent alone with nothing more for comfort than this very bottle.

The drink burns going down and Billy visibly winces, as he does every night that he participates in the ritual of his own undoing. It feels good after a few quick shots and once the dull pain subsides he can take his leisure with the drink, savoring each sip.

The bottle is empty before the sun rises to cast flickering rays through the window of Billy's apartment, until the light finally catches a man sprawled out asleep on the settee.

There he remains for some time, until around midday when there's a quiet knocking on the door. Again. It continues for some minutes, steadily growing louder. Billy fights against the noise, longing to remain blissfully unaware of the real world as he sleeps the day away, but the person outside refuses to stop for an instant.

So it is with sleepy-eyes and tousled hair that Billy opens the door with one hand, using the other to cover one ear in an attempt to lessen the pounding in his head.

The sight before him does not help his headache, but the cinnamon roll which appears to serve as a peace offering reminds Billy that he can't recall the last time he ate.

Perhaps, he reasons, it might be simpler to let Mark in and steal the bread than it would be to make himself something from the non-existent contents of his refrigerator.

The decision is already made for him when Mark pushes past him to enter the apartment, snatching the empty liquor bottle off the floor and throwing it into the waste bin. "You're a hazard."

Billy shrugs and Mark catches him eyeing the cinnamon roll. He holds it up, taunting. "You want?"

Billy shrugs again, though they both know that's a lie. Mark is laughing a moment later, embracing him in a hug while Billy fights, head still hammering from the night of heavy drinking. Eventually, they part and Mark lets him take the proffered item.

They sit on the sofa in silence for many minutes. Billy smacks away as he eats the cinnamon roll, licking his fingers in order to savor the very last remnants of the meal while Mark shakes his head in disgust. Once he is done, Mark is handing him something for the hangover. It is a glass of thick red liquid, the contents of which Billy has no desire to guess at.

Soon after, conversation flows freely.

"What brings ye here? Ah'm not set to work today, so'm nae skipping out."

Mark nods in agreement. "Thought I'd come rescue you from yourself."

He is met with a scowl. Help is not appreciated; at least, not the type which Mark is offering. But this is not the end, and Billy realizes he has mislabeled this particular dose of sarcasm. His body relaxes as he understands this is not a lecture on Billy's bad habits, of which there are many.

"There's this kid," Mark begins, but there is no need.

Billy nods. "Met him last night, Ah think."

The sofa shifts as Mark squirms, thinking carefully over his words. "He's a nice kid, Billy. I think you could help him. Told him so."

"So yer the one that sent him over to meh." There's a sly smile playing at the corners of his lips, and Mark returns the sentiment.

"He's not amazing, but I think that he shows some talent. And he's eager to learn. He's got a lot of heart, like we used to say, back in the good old days. Maybe he's not the tightest piece of ass right now, or whatever it is that qualifies someone to be an actor, but he could be good."

"Told 'im Ah'd see him again t'night."

"No drinking." Mark doesn't flinch from the glare that is thrown his way.

"Ah doan get drunk ev'ry night."

"I know, Billy."

"Why are ye trying to find me a pet project, anywho? Yah know how busy I am."

"I just thought you could help him."

Billy doubts this, but stays silent for now. Mark continues. "You better do a good job. It's my play that he's in."

"Piss off."

Mark laughs, hugging Billy gently, but then his tone changes. "How are you?"

"Fine."

Mark shakes his head. "No, Billy. How are you?"

Billy repeats his answer, and this time Mark lets it rest. He knows that it's been a long week.